A Density of Souls
by eresseabound
Summary: Overcome with guilt Frodo seeks solace in his own tormenting emotions. No slash and not complete!
1. Chapter 1

A/n: This is one of those "**ack-it's- four- o'clock- in- the- morning- I- have- dark- circles- under- my- eyes- I- really- want- to- go- to- sleep- but- I- drank- waaaay- too- much- coffee- and- those- little- Starbucks- espresso- shots (**which by the way are sooooooo good but they really give you a buzz" kind of stories. Actually it was written around the 40th hour of a 44 HOUR TRAIN RIDE from Fresno, CA to Seattle, WA after spending about 20 dollars on anything caffeinated. But it doesn't seem to have turned out _too_ horribly- so I'm posting it! I'm not sure if it's really done or not but I think it is. REVIEWS would still be very good, precious, yes. Very good. Yeah… um, right. Just tell me what could be improved.

Disclaimer: What's that you say? Am I Professor J.R.R. Tolkien? No, no I don't think so… what was that? Good chap, speak up… I need to write a _what_? Oh yes, yes of course- since I am not the wonderful and reputed Professor I do not own any of these characters or places… Eh? Come again… oh indeed dear fellow, I feel very sorry for myself too… (Remember- four o'clock a.m., my friends; four o'clock a.m. …)

_Night with its shattered teeth attempts to speak…_

A dim fire flickered softly on the hearth, sending deep shadows dancing on the wall and a gentle warmth to the far corners of the room chilled by the March wind. Dry pine logs crackled as merrily as a midsummer bonfire. But to Frodo Baggins it provided no comfort; only bitter memory of shadow and flame. Memory of a night or day- he knew not which- nearly a year ago.

"_March twenty-fifth_." Frodo glared intently into the feeble blaze. "_My doom_." A log snapped. Sparks settled at the Hobbit's feet as their bright glow died. "_My failure_." In his mind's keen eye he could see vividly the chamber.

Dark. It might have made little difference if eyes had been open or closed…but for the fiery chasm. The Cracks of Doom. Illuminating the menacing rock-faced walls and uneven floor. Looking over the jagged brink one could glimpse the deadly red river below- molten rock ready to be spat from the heart of the mountain at any moment to consume all in its way. Fire was always hungry- Frodo knew. It ate Gollum, devoured the Ring, and had come for him. "_I should have died_." Sudden, unexplained rage coursed through his veins. Frodo pounded his fist heavily into the overstuffed arm of his chair and aimed a strong kick at a stool near his feet. He missed. "_I was the reason for the loss of so many lives yet I could not manage to lose my own_!" His glittering eyes narrowed. "I should have died." He spat. His foot flew again and this time the stool clattered noisily through an untidy stack of ragged books and into the study's wall.

A door slammed down the hall. Rapid footsteps slapped against the wooden floorboards. "_Oh please no_…" The doorknob turned slowly as though the hand upon it were cautious on entering the room. Sam Gamgee ducked quietly in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. "_Not now Sam, please not now_." He nervously surveyed the room- seeming to be expecting some terrible sight but found only disorder. Books lay in a heap beside him, a footstool upturned next to them. He righted the stool but left it in its place. The young Hobbit shuffled slowly to stand beside his master. Sam scrutinized the hunched figure; he wondered at the hostile grimace frozen on his fair face and the hatred raging in Frodo's bright eyes.

"Mister Frodo?" He whispered. Frodo showed no response. "Sir, is everything alright?"

"Yes! Fine! It's always alright." Frodo snapped without shifting his gaze. "Everything's always been alright! Don't you know that, Sam!" Sam jumped at the harsh tone. In all the years they had known each other Sam could not recall ever having heard him use such a voice. He knelt slowly before him and gently placed a small brown hand over Frodo's slender fingers.

"What's the mater?" He pleaded.

"Nothing!" Frodo whipped the hand away. The long silence that fell was heavy. Sam fidgeted awkwardly. "Samwise," The name stung cruelly in Sam's ears. "There was no reason for you to come in here and there is certainly no reason for you to stay and just sit there watching me! I assure you- _nothing… is… wrong_!"

Sam made no motion to leave. Frodo reddened in fury.

"Damn you, Samwise!" He leapt from his seat and stormed out tearing though the entry hall and the front door and into the night.

"Don't you_ DARE_ follow me!"

Sam padded silently to the open door snatching a warm woolen jacket from a coat peg, peering into the dark. Trying to search the shadows for his master.

"_Why do you even bother... you know I will_."

He carefully stepped past the threshold and was consumed by darkness.

Frodo ran. Hard. Harder than he ever thought he would again. Dashing aimlessly through empty pastures and scrambling over any rotting fence or mossy wall that stood in his way. Fleeing his fury. There was no direction that could possibly be found in his frantic flight but his feet seemed to know their way.

As he raced along a snowstorm flurry of thoughts and memories spun through him. Of all his faults and failings. Of all those he had brought to pain. Of the unending pain he himself suffered through each moment- waking or otherwise. Of the life he thought he had known... Of Sam.

"_Why do you have to do this to me? Why do you always have to care? Why can't you leave me to my misery like every one else? Why can't you just leave me? Ever since you were a child you were like this. Always worried about my every step. Like you thought I would shatter with one wrong move. But you were wrong. I didn't. But now... _"

"I wish I could."

Frodo suddenly felt anger slipping from him and found himself wanting nothing more than to give into his surging emotions. To turn and run back in which ever direction it was he had come. To go back to Sam and try to heal whatever hurts he had caused and make him understand. There was no "all right" anymore. Just emptiness and guilt.

But he could not.

Sam knew better than to panic but still, it was difficult to ebb the tide of worry seeping into his conscience. Though it was not the first time he had seen Frodo angered and brash, Sam had never known him in a rage as this and he feared what ill judgment could befall his master.

The Hobbit trotted briskly down the dirt roads of The Hill, at a complete loss of where to search. He knew he could pass by the local inns. Frodo had never been one to drink away his sorrows and in pubs he received nothing but ridicule from loose-tongued troublemakers.

No. He would not be found in any familiar or homely place.

He knew that long ago Frodo had been known to wander the forests as far as the Bindbale Wood or the Woody End. But he could never have gone that distance. Not in such short time, and in the dead of night for that matter.

But then there were the old places- the ones from their childhood. Places that Sam could scarcely picture any more but could recall that the most wonderful moments in all his years came from those forgotten haunts. But there was only one that could have truly held fast in Frodo's heart.

At last Frodo met a familiar dirt road. He was past Bywater and into the East Farthing where the glassy moonlit river was dotted with stepping-stone like rocks for an easy crossing. He leaped one stone to the next with a graceful agility as he crossed the water and bounded into the thin forest immediately on the other side.

He knew this place.

Though it was no more than a mere fond memory from the kinder days of his youth, he remembered. There had once been laugher here.

Frodo stood- bent slightly to catch his breath- in a wide grove of ash. The trees' pale new leaves curled and frail, the dark buds just beginning to form in this bitter month. Through the many slender grey trunks wove a shallow brook bubbling merrily on its way to meet The Water. He gazed about with a smile- it was still there. From the high, strong branch of a particularly sturdy tree hung two mossy, fraying ropes and from them, beside the stream, a thick oak board. The swing. He remembered climbing high to tie the ropes in place and then higher and higher still. He had always seemed more comfortable so high above the ground than on it.

Frodo ran his hand over the weathered bark stopping abruptly when he met a pair of deep indentations in the wood.

**FB**

There were his initials. Boldly etched into the tree with the help of a dull and slightly rusted penknife that had been a gift from his father. Frodo continued to slide his hand to the right until he found the second set of markings.

**SG**

He traced the faint letters fondly with pale fingertips, and grinned in reminiscence. That had been Sam's first lesson- the first letters he had ever learned. Frodo had shown him. Patiently guiding his shaking and untrained hand over the soft wood with the blade of the knife. He would have given anything to see that smile of elation on Sam's face again.

He sank to sit on the cool damp ground among a tangled web of roots, closing his eyes to take in the moist smell of the earth and the brook. He almost thought that he could fell the golden sunlight of that afternoon- hear is own voice speaking softly and a young hobbit's even softer answer. But opening his eyes it was the same. A beautiful delicate world of fragile silver.

But he heard them still. Voices murmuring softly to each other. But from another time?

"_Maybe Sam was right- I really don't sleep enough_." Frodo silently chuckled- thoroughly calmed.

But they kept speaking. Louder now and then no more than the scarcest of whispers. No longer his own and Sam's. Low voices.

"_The voices of Men_..._ and Elves_." He marveled. But they weren't voices he knew. Cold and grating mutterings withering as they touched his ears- for he was certain now that they did not belong to the confines of his mind. "_But_..."

"_Baggins_..."

The grin was wiped from Frodo's face.

"_Baggins_...?" Another voice.

"_Yes_..._ the Halfling_..."

"_Because of him..."_

_"All because of him..."_

_"Yes..."_

Frodo leapt to his feet with a gasp. Pressing himself back into the tree. A small branch dug painfully beneath his shoulder blade. He didn't care.

_"He destroyed us..."_

_"Murdered..."_

_"Failed us..."_

_"Failed..."_

The Hobbit quailed as though awaiting a blow to the head. "Wh-who are you?" He choked. "Wh-where are you?"

_"We are here..."_

_"We have always been here..."_

_"Since you let us die..."_

It was as if the very darkness itself twisted and rippled. Shadows moved, writhed- morphing soundlessly into tall pallid figures of thin mist. The air about the grove thickened and chilled. Frodo tried to step back to turn and flee but he stumbled, sitting heavily. "No..." He shielded his eyes.

_"No...?"_

_"Look upon us, Ringbearer..."_

_"See what you have done..."_

The haze thickened as the spectral forms continued to appear. An army of voices closing about him.

_"Can you see us...?"_

_"Can you feel our touch...?"_

Frodo felt icy breath caress the nape of his neck.

_"Baggins..."_

_"Do you know who we are...?"_

"No..."

_"We are the dead."_

"Leave me be..."

_"The damned."_

"I beg of you!"

_"We weren't granted that mercy, ringbearer."_

_"Savior."_

"D-don't mock me." His quavering voice belied the fear in his feeble demand.

_"Yes... praise the Halflings..."_

_"Praise them with great praise..."_

"S-Sam." A frozen hand brushed Frodo's cheek. "Sa-am." He couldn't scream.

"_No one will come_..."

"_No one saved us_..."

"_Look upon us, Ringbearer_..."

"_See our pain_..."

"Please..." His voice was too faint. Frigid wind spun about him, curling itself around his limbs, strangling him. He at last glanced up. There was nothing he could do but stare- his bright eyes locked in terror.

The faces in the marsh. The dead faces. That was the only thought that his horror encased mind could possibly summon. The ethereal bodies that were forever doomed to lie drowning in foul waters had left their phantom graves and sought him.

They glared down at him in disgust through hollow eyes. Their haggard, skeletal faces drawn into a pinched leer. White, clammy hands reached for him- pushing him down. Forcing him back. Threatening to send him down- beneath the grassy surface of the earth.

He could see their blood. Dense, colourless liquid dripping sickly from their rusting mail. He knew how they had died. From the spears stuck through their hearts or the arrows through their throat or their cloven heads.

"_Come back with us_..."

"_We are lost_..."

"_Nameless_..."

"_We have no graves_..."

"_But there is one dug for you_..."

"No..."

"_You should have died_..."

"_You were the reason for the loss of so many lives_..."

"_Yes you could not manage to lose your own_..."

"N-no..."

"_Isn't that right, Ringbearer_?"

"_Wretch_."

"_Damned_."

"_Why didn't you die_?"

"_But you would have died in honour_..."

"_In valour_..."

"_Not nameless and alone_..."

"_But you don't deserve that_..."

"_You'll die alone_..."

"_Now you'll hurt_..."

"_You'll know our pain_..."

Frodo covered his ears but it made no difference.

"_Frodo_..."

Frodo gaped. He was staring himself in the eyes. But not the self he was now. The self he remembered. Healthy and strong. No maimed hand or pained existence. But the once merry eyes were blazing.

"_You let me die_... _you killed yourself- can't you see. Why don't you kill yourself again. Because of dear Sam? He doesn't care about you. It's me he thinks he knows. He doesn't understand- you are nothing. You aren't Frodo Baggins. Frodo Baggins is already dead- and you_..._ murdered_..._him_."

Frodo, at last, could stand no more.

"SAM!"

"Sam!"

Sam heard the desperate cry.

"Master!" He hollered into the night.

"NO!"

Sam sprinted wildly. He was to the river. He found the stones. Stumbled madly across. Into the trees.

"SAM!"

"Master?"

Sam could hear him sobbing. But Frodo was no where to be seen. Horrible images spun through his mind. Frodo lying curled on the ground- his life's blood spilling from the slender gashes on his wrists. Frodo beaten senseless, left for dead. Sam stumbled blindly about until, at last, something snared his foot and he crashed to the ground.

"Mister Frodo?"

Sam had fallen nearly atop of his master. Frodo lay weeping beside him. Knees curled tightly to his chest, his head shielded by his shaking arms. He hastily sat to draw Frodo into his strong embrace but at the slightest touch of Sam's hand he began to shriek and flail madly.

"NO! Leave me be!" His fist lashed out, connecting solidly with Sam's jaw.

"Master!"

Sam held him firmly, pinning Frodo's arms to his sides.

"Please... PLEASE! Don't. Just leave me..."

"Mister Frodo, please. It's me."

"D-don't... I couldn't... I..."

"It's your Sam."

"No... SAM!"

"Frodo!"

"Sam..." Frodo's writhing ceased and he fell limp into the gardeners touch. Sam cradled him gently- resting his weary head in the crook of his arm. He rocked worriedly back and forth.

"Mister Frodo?" Tears began to stream down Frodo's pale face from behind his fluttering lashes. "C-can you he-hear me?" He breathed, fighting with the lump swelling in his throat. He waited. His eyes began to sting. Frodo didn't move. "P-please..." He sobbed. At last he received a trembling nod. Sam buried his face in Frodo's curls.

"T-they said...y-you wou-ouldn't c-come."

"What?" Sam sat upright.

"T-they s-s-said no one w-would co- come for m-me."

"Who said that?" Sam tried to look him in the eyes but Frodo turned away. "Sir!"

"T-they m-mocked me. Th-they s-said it w-was m-my fault."

"Mister Frodo- _what happened_?" Sam gasped.

"C-can't y-you hear them?" Frodo's wide shadowed eyes stared accusingly up.

"Master w-was some one h-here?"

"Th-they're here."

"Wh-" Sam's heart was beginning to race. He saw no one.

"Th-they think I... they think I should..." Frodo wept into his friend's shoulder. "They t-think I... sh-should..."

"Master... there's no one-"

"...die."

Sam's world spun. There _was _no one there. No one that he could see. But they wanted his master dead. Some one who wasn't real wanted his Mister Frodo dead. But how could _anyone_ wish death upon him?

"_They could_."

"And, Sam-" Frodo began to cough heavily, choking on tears. His stomach lurched. He rolled away from Sam's grasp as he began to wretch. Sam gently placed his strong hands on Frodo's waist to steady him. Frodo slowly sat- his sides heaving. Sam tugged his sleeve into his fist to dab at the corners of Frodo's mouth. But Frodo pushed him away.

"Sam...Oh, Sam... I-I th-think I ag-aggree."

"No- no. You don't!"

"Sam..." Frodo swayed, threatening to swoon.

Sam carefully pulled his master close- placing one arm about his shoulders and another beneath his knees, faltering slightly as he stood.

"What..."

"You're comin' home."

TBC

well...?


	2. Chapter 2

A/n: Wow! I didn't think that anyone would actually read this. So thank you to all of the wonderful people who weren't too lazy to review... ahem... Alright- so I know I never review anyone else's stories but... well, nevermind. I hope no one has any difficulty following any of these chapters. As usual I am completely open to any plot or editing suggestions... ahem... okay, enough- on to chapter two!

**Kos**, **chickloveslotr**and**Julia Baggins**: I'm really glad you enjoyed that chapter!

**PorcelinaCorgan**: yes, and Starbucks rocks... by the way, judging by your name, would you happen to be a Smashing Pumpkins fan?

**Larner**: Yes it can...

**BraellyraLeatherleaf**: Thank you sooo much and I'm gad you enjoy my style. You're right- I just realized that I don't think I've ever written a story at a respectable time of day.

**The Hobbit Lass**: I guess it was a bit weird...

**starvingartist**: THANK YOU!

Disclaimer: Ummm... (again too lazy to come up with something interesting)... I do not own the Lord of the Rings... not like you haven't heard that before...

Dawn could not come soon enough. But when at last the first fragile rays of the early sun brushed Sam's weary form they were solemn grey and brought no comfort. Bathed in a splash of frigid light he shivered silently on the tile floor of the entry way- rocking slowly back and forth, back and forth to the rhythm of his own heart. His sun- browned face glistened faintly with a teary sheen as he gazed somberly at his master's slumbering head resting in his lap. Watching sunbeams play across the still, peaceful face- illuminating the deep blotched shadows beneath his eyes and the chiseled hollows of his ghostly pale cheeks.

"_Oh, Frodo... what's happened to you?_" Fresh tears spilled from Sam's eyes as he tenderly brushed a stray tendril of hair from an ivory brow. "_What's happened?_" His hand settled softly on Frodo's delicately rising chest. "_Where have you gone?_" He smiled faintly as he thought back to days that were now merely fond memories of a more simple time, before their quiet existence had been suddenly and painfully swept from beneath their feet. He knew that there was nothing in all of Middle Earth that could wrench his heart from master but even still Frodo was not the same person he had known such a short while ago. Gone was the strong, bold gentlehobbit with his wild eyes and eager laugh. He had been replaced by this frail whitewashed shell of what he once was. Some where inside, Sam hoped, still lay the fragments of soul that had been shattered but he didn't know how to wake them. "I miss you." He spoke unknowingly aloud. "I don't know why." He frowned as his voice thickened. "You're right here but part of you's elsewheres." He bowed his head as the older Hobbit lashes fluttered as he neared waking. "I just don' know."

Form the kitchen a clock chimed faintly. Five o'clock. In a few hours time he should have been rising from his sleep and readying himself for another day. He yawned widely, longing for rest. Sam sighed before gently lifting Frodo in his arms once more. Carrying him silently down the sparsely decorated hall to the his room. He fumbled slightly with the doorknob before letting himself in. He set Frodo lightly on the bed pulling the covers to his shoulders and tucking them tightly about him. Sam sought his hand and pressed it briefly in his own before turning away, not wanting to leave him alone.

"Sam."

Sam jumped. Frodo was awake, curled on his side, wide eyes staring with an openly pleading gaze. But he quickly moved his sight to the wardrobe across the room.

"You... you don't have to stay here. You can go home...if you like." He was now intensely interested in a dewy spider's web beyond a windowpane. "You haven't visited in a while... I'm sure-" He fell silent as he felt the mattress shift beneath him. Sam's hand settled on his shoulder.

"It's a bit early to be goin' home right now, sir." Sam said with all honesty. "I think it would be best if you went back to sleep for a while." Frodo bit his lip and nodded slowly. Sleep was the last thing he wanted. It was wasted time. His eyes drifted to a thick, weathered red book abandoned on the chair in the corner. Sam followed his path of vision. "Mister Frodo, beggin' your pardon, sir, but you need it."

Frodo knew he could never make himself tell the truth. That he was terrified to close his eyes because he knew what he would see. "I...I'm not tired now." But his voice must have betrayed him.

"Just you lie down and rest a bit, now. You'll feel better." Sam stood again to go. But as he turned a hand shot out to tightly clasp his own.

"Sam?"

The young Hobbit knelt by the bed, caressing the fingers wound about his own.

"Yes, sir?"

"I don't understand what it...what happened last night...but..." He began slowly. "Oh Sam, I'm afraid." He swallowed. "_And I don't know if.._."

"Mister Frodo," Sam looked up into his master's glazed, shimmering eyes. "So am I." Sam shoved the extra pillows aside and sat behind Frodo, leaning against the headboard. Frodo fell back, huddling against the gardener as though Sam could offer him the protection he sought from the deep shadows that lurked in his mind. Sam's arms wrapped loosely around Frodo's slender torso.

What had happened that night? Sam only wished for assurance- whether it meant that what Frodo had seen was true or not. Now he almost wished that his master was mad. That would mean that no one had tried hurt him. But regardless of that, Frodo now thought that someone wanted him to suffer and die. And he agreed. He Agreed! How could he? He knew he was not to be blamed for anything that had ever happened. He knew that he was loved.

But he had always been like that. He always took accidents and mishaps as a burden of guilt. Sam remembered how he'd found some way to take the drowning of his parents as his fault. And Bilbo's disappearance. Gandalf's fall. The misery of friends. But he'd never shown any intention to make any more of it that a passing worry and regret. Now... Sam shuddered. Now he didn't know.

"G'night." He murmured with a sure frown masking his face as he watched the dusty rose hue of the morning light dance across the walls.

When Frodo woke at last his spirits were raised. He found Sam to be slumped slightly over him, his breathing slowed- sleep having long since taken the young Hobbit. He cautiously unraveled himself from Sam's embrace and pulled the blankets close about his friend. "_Sleep tight, Sam_."

Rubbing the weariness from his bleary eyes he stumbled through Bag- End, pulling a finely woven grey cloak from a coatpeg to his shoulders before stepping out into a tall-shadowed hour and the angry March winds. He trudged, head down, hood up, along familiar muddy paths and rocky lanes. Watching the scenery grow increasingly brambled and untamed as he skirted the main roads that led through town. Frodo made his final turn down a weedy cobblestone way winding up a sleepily sloping hillside through thick hedges of wild rose. He nearly held his breath as he passed through a heavily rusted iron archway of broken, once intricate cords of metal.

It had been too long since he had paid them a visit. And in the late, golden hours of the day this place had always seemed so peaceful even in this violent month. Frodo strolled along in an almost trancelike state. Calmly surveying the wild lawn that sprawled out before him, the many weathered carven stones. So mossy or beaten by wind and rain that the names and memories inscribed upon them could only be read by the keenest of eyes. He paused now and again to read a poetic epitaph he had pondered in his youth or to stare in pity at a gathering of wilted flowers. It seemed sad to him that the dead were so often abandoned by those they had loved.

He knelt a while by the well kept and blossoming side of Bell Gamgee. Remembering and blessing for a moment the simple goodness and kindly welcoming smile she had granted her son.

Moving on he came to two solitary stones secluded by a peeling picket fence- unkempt and barely distinguishable through the masses of ivy that clung to them. Frodo felt the slightest pang of guilt. There lie his parents. He sat heavily before them. Tugging heartlessly at the troublesome plants. He vowed that should he ever return he would grow something lovely here but his promise was pointless and wholly empty.

He didn't know how long he was there lost deep in thought, crumbling dead leaves and shredding the stems of dandelions between his fingertips. But he was surprised to find that his thoughts did not wander to the family and the childhood he had lost. His mind was occupied with other matters. He had not come for this purpose- to sit for hours by a long forgotten grave. He had amends to make.

At the very crest of the hill there sat a great stone. On it were listed nineteen names. The names of the nineteen Hobbits dead, killed in the only battle Hobbiton would ever see. Though that would seem few it was nineteen lives severed too soon. Nineteen fathers who would never again see their children or never have their sons and daughters born. Nineteen families left to their grief. Nineteen more to be forgotten as they were erased from time. Nineteen lost because of him.

Frodo traced the etching with a slight hand- _The Battle of Bywater 1419_- and let it fall unceremoniously to his side. He carefully prodded a wilting daffodil to stand again. "_I'm sorry, my friends. I never meant this to happen. If only I could explain to you. But it's too late for that. I can only hope that you would understand. I never knew that it could go this far, that one could go so far for pipe-weed and revenge. I didn't mean to bring the evil back with me...I didn't know..._" He pressed his lips to the frozen rock. "Forgive me, please." He whispered as his chest tightened.

Evening was drawing about him swiftly. The western sky lit afire with a blaze of brilliant colour. Frodo hurried on his way. Sam surely would have woken now. And knowing his dear friend, he would be worried. Sure enough...

"Mister Frodo?" Sam's anxious voice drifted to him from around the bend. Frodo shook his head and grinned.

"I'm here, Sam!" He called as loud as his lungs would allow.

"Master? Where are you?"

"Right here." Frodo laughed as he came up beside him. Sam jumped and spun around, his clothes still crumpled from sleep. The smile was wiped from Frodo's face as he saw he was nearly in tears. "Oh Sam, I'm sorry but I didn't want to wake you. I just wanted to go for a walk before it was too late." Indeed stars were beginning to peer through the dusty violet heavens. But to Sam it seemed that something in the gentlehobbit's voice was not referring to the time.

"Yes, sir. I worry about you- that's all. You scared me last night... after _that_... I... I thought you'd gone off again... and gotten hurt." Sam rambled.

Frodo sighed.

"I know, lad. But everything's alright now." Frodo immediately regretted his choice of words.

"_Yes! Fine! It's always alright. Everything's always been alright! Don't you know that, Sam?_"

Sam winced.

"I mean it this time." Frodo hung an apologetic arm over Sam's shoulders, pulling him close to his side. "Come on, let's get inside. It's too cold out here."

"Here, Sam. You look like you need this." Sam found a steaming mug of strong tea forced into his chill hands. He startled, looking up to see Frodo smiling down on him, eyes shining. Sam was terrible puzzled by his sudden change of mood.

"You shouldn't have, sir. I could have gotten that." He muttered.

"I know I shouldn't have. But I did." The older Hobbit drug an overstuffed, burgundy chair across the study to be facing Sam's and flopped into it. "The least you can do is drink it, Sam."

"Alright, sir." Sam brought the mug to his lips but did not drink. Frodo groaned silently to himself. Would Sam ever stop addressing him so?

They spoke no more. Sam watched intently as his master produced a familiar worn red book and began to write, his thin hand coaxing the pen to glide gracefully from page to page forming bold and flowing words. Frodo would never tell him what he was doing nor allow him to read it but Sam felt he knew. Now and again he would go to stroke the embers of the fire, trying to encourage it to come back to roaring life. But Frodo remained motionless. Reclining against the arm of his chair, book propped against his bent knees, the sound of a scratching quill constantly filling the study.

"It's funny isn't it?" Frodo said suddenly surprising Sam again.

"What, sir?"

"It's funny." He declared.

"I'm sorry, Mister Frodo, but I don't follow you."

Frodo chuckled at the thought of Sam not following him.

"That we've only just gotten up for the day and it's night."

"I'm sure it is, sir." Sam had long ago learned not to pay mind to Frodo's odd comments. Frodo laughed.

"Oh, Sam."

Sam sipped his tea, smiling softly. He would never understand him.

"Sam."

"What?"

"Nothing." Frodo went back to his book. "That's all."

Sam shook his head. "_I love him, whether or no. He's like that... somehow...he comes back sometimes...but he always has to go..._"

"You're sure you're fine, Mister Frodo?" He raised his brow in question. Anyone but Sam might have thought he'd been drinking but the gardener knew he needed no ale to turn his head.

"Better than I've been in a long time." Was his only answer as Frodo left Sam to his befuddlement.

Some time later he spoke again.

"Strange as this may sound," He announced. Sam snorted. How much stranger could he get in one night. "I think I might turn in for the day... night." He corrected himself. But he didn't leave. He stood before Sam and tugged him to his feet, taking Sam's hands in his own with a sudden urgency.

"Sam. You know that whatever happens- I don't mean it. I-it's not your fault."

"Mister Frodo..." Sam didn't understand.

"What I mean Sam..." Frodo's hands began to tremble. Sam returned their grasp.

"You know I would never do anything to hurt you."

"Sir... I-"

"Never." Frodo said firmly. Blue eyes luminous, boring into Sam's heart. "You know... don't you? Tell me... Please?"

"I know, sir."

Frodo nodded and then to Sam's astonishment pulled him into a strong embrace. His body was shaking.

"I know." Sam whispered up into Frodo's ear. Frodo drew away.

"Goodnight then, Sam." He brushed the curls away from Sam's wide, dark eyes and walked away.

"Frodo."

He stopped.

"Goodnight."

Frodo smiled sadly. "Sam. I think that's the first time you've ever called me by my name."

"Oh! I'm sorry Mister Frodo, sir..." Sam blushed deeply.

"No... I like it." He murmured wistfully. "_If only_..." Sam turned away missing the tear trailing down Frodo's cheek. "Goodbye, Sam."

Sam sat back, his knees curled to his chest, and buried his face in his hands. What was wrong?

"_Th-they think I... they think I should... they t-think I... sh-should..._"

"_Master... there's no one-_"

"_...die._"

Sam wracked his troubled mind. But defeated, he knew he could not find the answer.

"_Sam...Oh, Sam... I-I th-think I ag-gree._"

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chaos**: I'm flattered.

**Hippielover459**: Don't worry "More! More! More! More!" is on the way... lol

**Larner**: I just thought that since Frodo's family was originally from Hobbiton that it would be possible that they would be buried there. Also, on the name thing, i seriously considered cutting it out for being highly unlikely but that moment in the story really needed it.

**PorcelinaCorgan**: You now officially rule!

**The Hobbit Lass**: Thank you!

**FrodoBaggins87**: Wow! I'm glad you like this.

A/n: Okay- I've now learned to never underestimate the chapters that you think are going to be SOOO easy. This one took FOREVER! Only I probably spent more time trying to decide what music to listen to get me to write this and since I did that... the songs this chapter was written to were "a different kind of pain" by Cold and "scars" by Papa Roach and random songs by the Smashing Pumpkins which by the way is the greatest band EVER! And im totally sure that you have better things to do than to listen... read my ramblings- like REVIEW THIS STORY! ...please?

Disclaimer: Heck- you're psychic- you know what im too lazy to write here.

Frodo stood sadly in the doorway. "_How did it come to this..._" He slipped a sheaf of parchment from the book he held in his arms. Then set the red book back on the chair in the corner. He stared a moment at the note clutched in his fair, shivering hands, then nodded. He folded and creased it in perfect, meticulous halves and set it down to perch ready and waiting on his pillow. He nervously straightened the bedcovers. "_I never knew it could go so far_." He walked a practiced circle about the room. Fondly touching the dust faded binding of a favourite book or a childhood trinket, glancing a moment in the mirror before hastily turning from his ghostly reflection. "_It needs to be done_." He sighed before making sure that the door was tightly shut and locked. "_This is what I want. It's all that's left_."

Sam never saw that Sting was no longer glittering in it's stand on the desk beneath the window. Too deeply lost in his troubled thoughts he sat unmoving. The fire that he had finally coaxed to light was now no more than a small heap of faintly glowing ashes and blackened logs. "_What's wrong, what's wrong, what's wrong, what's wrong..._" Had become a constant chant sounding through his mind as seconds ticked slowly past.

Frodo fumbled a moment with the latch on the window. "_The wind. Too stuffy in here._" A glaze of sweat was forming on his palms. "_I need to feel the wind_." He threw open the heavy glass panes, tearing a curtain he had forgotten was still clutched in his hand. A breeze fragrant with spring flowed through the room bringing with it an enfolding calm. The crisp air seemed to pass into him, pooling and swelling in his heart, rushing to his mind. Lifting him. One last deep breath before the fall. Frodo merely drank it in, a simple smile spreading across his face. It was right.

He watched the tall candle that dimly lit the room flicker. He cupped his hand behind it and gently blew it out. The smoke drifted to the ceiling as a thin spiraling spirit.

Sam was called to life by the faint, timid tinkling of the doorbell. "_At this hour_...?" He rose stiffly all too aware of his spine crackling loudly as he straightened. He plodded tiredly to the door opening it only slightly. "Hullo?"

"Sam, you can open the door! It's me- Rosie."

He pulled back, looking suddenly into the smiling face of the young Hobbit-lass illuminated by a sliver of lanternlight from the hall behind.

"Rosie!" Sam gasped and then hastily turned his gaze to the floor as he felt the blood rising in his cheeks. "W-would you like to come inside?" He stammered.

Rosie Cotton laughed gently. The sound fell upon Sam's ears like a thousand tiny bells. He knew his face had gone a shade redder. "Why yes I would, Sam. Thank you." Sam stepped aside, holding open the door for her to step gracefully past. "I just thought I'd stop by a moment to see how you were holding up. We haven't seen you in a while." Her eyes locked intently with his own. "Are you alright?"

"I suppose so." He murmured. A frown flickered across Rosie's face but didn't linger.

Sam led her to the parlor and started a fire with fresh pine logs as she sat lightly on the sofa. "I'll make some tea, if you'd like." He suggested.

"No, thank you," She caught his hand and pulled him down beside her. "I'd just like to talk a while."

"Isn't it a bit late to be out?" Sam puzzled.

"It isn't that late, Sam. Only half past eight." She pointed to the clock on the mantle.

"Oh." Sam exclaimed softly and didn't speak again. Rosie stared into the fire. Sam pretended to do the same but found that the flickering tongues of flame could not hold his attention. Not with her sitting so close. He couldn't help but stare. Now with the amber light playing softly in her honey golden curls, pooling in her brilliant hazel eyes she seemed more beautiful to his than ever before. But to look at her so scorched his heart with a painful fury. He knew that the wish dancing tauntingly through his mind could never be.

"You lied to me, Sam." She spoke at last. Sam startled- deeply hurt.

"What?" He breathed. Rosie ran her fingers gently over his. Sam had never noticed that their hands were still clasped. His heard began to race.

From beneath his bed Frodo pulled with great care a heavily battered leather scabbard, so worn it was a wonder it still held fast, securing it cautiously to his belt as though it would dissolve at his touch. He shrugged out of his weskit and numbly began to unbutton his tunic, finally tearing it from him and casting it to the floor.

"You said you were alright. Sam Gamgee, I haven't known you all my life to not tell when something's wrong." Sam hung his head. "What is it?" The thoughts swam sickly through his head of the night before. "Is it Frodo?" Sam nodded, unexplainably ashamed. He wanted so badly to tell her as if it would ease the horror should some one else know. But his mouth went dry before he could speak. "Sam?" A hint of pleading was in her voice. "Please?"

"It'll be a year ago tonight, Rosie." He sighed.

"A year ago? What will be a year ago? Sam!"

"A year since the ring's been gone."

The ring? Months ago Sam had told her the story- or what of it he was willing to tell. Had anyone else told the tale she would have never in her life believed it. But there had been something in his voice, the way he had wept to bitterly to finish that had convinced her. But he would never tell the end or what had happened to his poor master's hand.

"I know that no one really thinks he's changed but he has... he has!" Something was swelling in his throat but he swallowed it back. Now that he had started he couldn't stop. "Last night..." He choked. "Last night he got angry but I don't know why. I hadn't seen him that way before. Not when he didn't have... _it_. But I suppose he decided he was mad at me. He just ran out."

"Is he back now? Is that what's bothering you?" Rosie interrupted.

"No... he's here now- sleeping- but I wish that was all. Truly, I do." He took a deep breath. "I went looking for him just after he left. It must've been an hour 'til I found him. But when I did... Oh Rosie... he was awful. He was just lying there on the ground, all curled up. I think I tripped over him- I could barely see." Rosie wanted to ask where Frodo had gone but knew better than to stop him. "He was cryin' so hard... I don' know if he could hear me. I jus' wanted to hold him, to get him home." His slow voice quavered. "But he started screaming. He didn't know it was me. He thought there was someone else there but there wasn't, Rosie... there was nobody there. He- he thought that they wanted to hurt him... kill him even. Somethin' in his head w-wants him t-to die!" He trembled. "A-and t-then-n he t-told me..." Sam's breath caught in his chest. "He t-told me that h-he agreed!" He slumped forward, his voice breaking. "H-he t-thinks he w-wants to die!"

Rosie stared aghast. That wasn't just wrong. And Sam had lived through that. But Sam had lived through a year of torment that she could never even begin to accept. And what of Frodo. What was it he had seen?

Watching Sam now, though, she felt something unknown rise in her heart. She wrapped her arms tightly about his quivering frame and let him rest against her as soft sobs escaped him. "Sam..." She whispered. He sat up, pulling away but she leaned still closer to him. Sam thought his heart would fly right out of him as her lips gently brushed his own.

Frodo stood, tall and proud, reveling for one last moment in the satin air. One graceful finger at a time he firmly grasped the time polished hilt of Sting from the scabbard at his hip and drew it solemnly from its hiding. The sharp sound of the blade unsheathing resonated in his mind. He held the sword steady before him relaxing his grasp a moment, captivated by the starlight glimmering along it, reflecting each tiny spark from its home in the velvet heavens. He tilted the blade back and forth making the light dance about the sharpened edge. For a moment he captured a sliver of his own face. A luminous blue eye nearly hidden beneath a mop of chestnut curls. He sighed. If only he had more time.

At long last Frodo tilted it to his heart.

"Rose?" Sam breathed his deep, brown eyes widened behind their teary sheen.

"Shhh, Sam..." They were still so close... all Sam needed to do was lean in... "We've waited a long time." She caught his lip tenderly in hers. But Sam again drew away, turning from the injured frown upon her face.

"This isn't real" He chuckled. "It can't be." Laughter erupted from him.

"Sam?" She pleaded.

"I'm sorry but for a moment I actually thought that you could-"

"I thought loved me, Sam." She spoke sadness edging into her voice. "You did once... befo-" Sam gaped- hardly able to believe what he was hearing.

"I do." A tear dripped down his face. "I do"

Frodo drew back his arm. The point of Sting poised perfectly. Ready. He took one last breath of the fragrant air...

But the sound reached his heard even before it fell into his ears echoing throughout his soul. The sweet innocent laughter of Sam. "_Oh, Sam...My dear Sam..._" Would that innocence still be there in the morning when Sam found him there, lying cold and rigid, Sting embedded in is torn body, the thick dark blood pooled about him. It would die along with him. Would he be killing what he loved more deeply than he ever thought he could. It would be another murder to his name but the only one that mattered. This was a different kind of pain. One worse than another day spent alive. Who would be there for Sam as the world fell apart? "_I won't_..._ but it wouldn't matter who was there because it wouldn't be me. I can do this to myself_..._but not to him_..._never to him_..." The blade clattered to the floor. He turned and fled with his shame, tearing back into the night.

They both heard the door slam shut. Sam blushed, staring down at their fingers still entwined.

"Sam... go." Rosie pulled her hand away and set it on his arm. Kissing him softly once more. "He needs you."

I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut

My weakness is that I care too much

And our scars remind us that the past is real

I tear my heart open just to fail…


	4. Chapter 4

A/n: Okay- I'm sure this chapter will be a little familiar to some of you that's because I originally posted it for my birthday (MARCH 25th!) this year under the title "Why Can't It All Be Beautiful". I really didn't want to get rid of it as a single chapter piece but I had to so... you know what I mean!

Disclaimer: Hear ye, hear ye! It is my great regret to announce that I do not own any characters or places of The Lord of the Rings. They are the property of the highly esteemed... oh what's the point! I hate writing these things!

_They go on forever, don't they… the stars? Forever… tiny souls, shimmering softly. A beauty of the infinite dark. True beauty. So pure. That which cannot be marred, cannot be captured by any hand, though they try in vain. Even the bottled light of the brightest star in all the heavens could not compare, for there is something so glorious in the freedom of those little bright souls. Something that can never be trapped or tamed. They can't be dimmed. For they go on forever…_

Frodo lay, gazing out through all he knew to be eternity, his bright eyes glazed with wonder. It was all so vast, so great, and he was so small... A cool breeze gently played across his face. The Hobbit sighed in content. The night was warm for early spring. Usually the fierce March gales would be racing across the grassy hills and wreaking havoc that could only be rivaled by certain young Tooks, Brandybucks, and, of course, the occasional Baggins.

But tonight, all was calm. The new moon hung like a dagger in the velvet sky above The Shire, and the stars gleamed with such a brilliance as Frodo had never seen before. Beaded on long blades of grass about him, fresh dewdrops mirrored their shine. The fresh green leaves of the gnarled tree above him whispered restlessly. The air was sweet with the anticipation of April.

Frodo allowed his mind to stray as it so often did and staring into the emptiness between the glimmers in the sky, the bitterness of it struck him like a deftly tossed stone.

_Why can't it all be beautiful?_

Suddenly the night seemed to press closer and as the faint breeze drifted away, the crisp air grew warm and uncomfortably thick. The terrible thoughts began to burrow into his mind but this time he did not brush them aside.

_For I know of another infinite darkness and there, there are no stars. It's the darkness that comes when we close our eyes- and not in sleep. When we shut out the world after that final glance. When we breathe our last sighing breath and our heart shudders to a stop._

Frodo's own heart froze and quailed.

_Why would I long for that..._

He felt deep anguish swelling like an illness in his belly.

_It is not beautiful..._

He tried to sink into the ground, squeezing his bright eyes tightly shut, trying to make it all go away...

_But when we're there, we don't know that. We don't know anything. The darkness consumes our thoughts, devours our soul. Smothering. Constricting. Winding about us. Spider's web. Cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot…feel._

The feeling bust and an icy wave of nausea swept over him, draining him. Pulling him down with the undertow. Seeping away...

_Drowning. Drowning in this cloak of night- these deep dark waters to which there is no end. Sinking, falling, soaring._

He could feel it, feel it inside him. Eating away at his flesh. Crawling through him like maggots and worms through a corpse. He knew they were there. Gnawing away at his bone. Devouring his eyes. Crawling over him. Sharp legs and slime and rotting meat. He wept, striking out but he couldn't brush them away.

He could feel it, feel it about him. A wooden box.

_Darkness… Pressing. Binding. Cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot feel._

Sinking down, beneath the earth.

_Cannot feel. The terrible emptiness. I am a shell. A hollow shell._

Sam heard the frail, strangled sob. He had known he would find him here. He padded silently through the trees until he finally saw the small form curled pitifully among the twisted roots of the old tree. As he quietly approached his heart twisted to watch Frodo struggling to swallow his tears. Sam sat softly on the earth beside his master. He did not need to speak. His strong brown fingers curled lightly about Frodo's pale hand.

Tears began to flow freely down Frodo's face as he turned to Sam. His wide eyes shone a nearly luminous blue through their watery sheen as they delved deeply into Sam's own dark eyes. Sam wished so desperately that he knew what his master was searching for when that gaze cut through his soul.

"Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo suddenly twined trembling arms around Sam's neck, pressing his face into his shoulder. The Hobbit shook violently against his friend, trying to rid himself of all his waking dreams.

_Darkness… Pressing. Binding. Cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot feel._

Sam enfolded him in a gentle embrace.

Then, at last, Frodo began to weep.

_Why can't it all be beautiful…_

He felt Sam's steady arms tighten around his slender frame, drawing him closer. Frodo tried again to close his mind- to shut out the shadows and hold close the light. But he couldn't. It was still there.

_I'm screaming inside but no one can hear me…_

Sam could feel his heart begin to crumble as Frodo sought shelter in his presence. Shelter from whatever storm assailed his mind. His own body shook with Frodo's jagged sobs. How did it come to pass that one could be forced through so much pain. And one who never deserved it.

No one deserved this torment.

He wished that he knew a cure, something that would put it all to rest. If only he could take it away, take it upon himself. But there was nothing to be done. Sam felt utterly helpless and terribly alone.

_Everlasting night, the infinite dark…_

Frodo clung to Sam with such desperate strength, wishing he could fade away, drift away. Drift away on the swells of the Sea. Sail away, into the light.

Then he remembered. The tiny jewel seemed to cut into his chest… there was hope for him yet.

He felt some knot inside come undone. Long awaited calm starting to flow. It seeped through him, coursing through him- like running through the door from the chill winter rain to find a warm fire and a hot mug of tea.

Sam breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Frodo had stilled and now lay limp against him, sides heaving with exhaustion. He wearily lowered his head to rest his cheek on the thick, dark curls, wanting to lift him gently and carry him home. But he needed Frodo to talk. He needed an answer.

Frodo then realized what it was he wished for. He wished to run, to run away from the darkness. To somewhere he might never need to face it.

But he knew what it would mean. It would mean running from all that he loved. Escaping the tangled web of memory and emotion and…

"Mr. Frodo?"

... and Sam.

"Sir?" Sam's tentative voice crackled.

Frodo twisted his head to see Sam's face. His eyes glowed again with that strange light. Like the stars he loved so much lived inside of him.

"Sam,"

The Hobbit stared down at him in great concern.

"Sam, I'm sorry..."

Sam looked away. Why did he always have to say that?

"For what?" he answered.

"For everything..." Frodo shook his head. "I'm terrible."

Sam was at a loss for the words to reply.

"You shouldn't be here." He continued. "You should be home, asleep. Not out looking for me."

Sam found his tongue. "You're wrong." He said flatly. Frodo's eyes widened slightly in surprise. He would never, never had expected Sam to rebuke him. "You're wrong, I should be here. This is where I belong. This is what I'm here to do. I'm here to help you. Whether you like it or no."

"No, Sam" Frodo sat up, speaking intently. "You're here to live."

"And what about you," Sam begged himself to not say the words that must follow. "You aren't dead yet."

Frodo gasped.

_Why can't it all be beautiful…_

What had come over him? Why must he say that?

The gardener felt hot tears burn in his throat. What a fool he was!

Frodo's stare was fixed on his lap, to the hand that rested on his knee. The right hand. He was glaring at the empty space. The ugly, scarred gap between finger and finger. The fleshy stump that had once been long and nimble was raw and red, even now.

"It was only a year ago." His voice broke. "I wasn't afraid."

"What was it like Sam," He asked without warning. "To drown."

If Sam found this question strange he didn't say so. "Mr. Frodo, sir, I'm not sure I understand."

"What was it like," Frodo cried "To know that you were gong to die?"

Sam, again, was hesitant to answer.

"I don't know why, but I wasn't frightened." He strained to find the words to say what he needed to say. "It was peaceful, down there." He almost choked as an unexpected sob threatened to burst from him. "It's hard to explain, you see. I'm as scared of water as anything but it… it was almost beautiful." His voice filled with wonder. "It was so beautiful. And, and I knew what was going to happen but… but how could anything so beautiful be bad?" Sam felt guilty about his next words. "But maybe a part of me knew that it would be alright because it was for you. You told me not to be afraid, I heard your voice and I wasn't. I was ready." He smiled slightly. "But then you saved me."

Frodo nodded.

But Sam wasn't finished. "I always wanted to be there for you, but somehow it seemed you were always saving me…why?"

"Because." Was the simple answer. And maybe that was all that was needed.

They sat quietly in that way, leaning on each other until the moon had begun to set. Then Frodo spoke again.

"It's almost over."

Sam seemed puzzled.

"The 25th of March."

And then he remembered- remembered lying hand in hand with his master amid the fire and the ash and the smoke. He remembered how strangely happy Frodo had seemed, and how he couldn't see how anyone could be happy about dying. For they were going to die and perhaps they did. Sam recalled a cold dark place but then he heard a voice calling to him. It was Frodo's voice. And then he saw the light, and he followed.

"I wanted nothing more than to die, Sam. Nothing more." Frodo marveled. "And now I want nothing more than to live. At least, I think I want to live." He chuckled softly, but the laugh was cold. "I am one very confused old Hobbit, now, aren't I?"

He had to say it. "Sam, I am going to tell you why I was here tonight." He waited for Sam to nod. "I was going to do it tonight. I wrote you a letter, because that's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?"

Sam's stomach lurched. A letter? That's what you're supposed to do? No, he wouldn't believe it!

"Sam." Frodo said sternly. "I need you to listen."

A silvery tear tailed down the gardener's stricken face.

"After I finished, I folded the letter. It's sitting on my pillow, next to where you would find me later. It explains nothing, though it was supposed to. Because to tell you the truth, I didn't have a reason to." He laughed again.

Sam's lip began to tremble. But Frodo continued his horrible tale.

"Then I opened the window, let the cool breeze fly through. I needed to feel the air one more time." He smiled. It had been a wonderful feeling, the rush that came before the fall. "Then, I blew out the candles. I took Sting from his scabbard. The blade was so lovely in the starlight, Sam. Then I stood. I took off my weskit and tunic and I waited."

Sam couldn't believe it, he wouldn't!

"I put the point to my chest, above my heart. Almost the same spot as my scar, from Weathertop."

How could Frodo be so blunt about something like this?

"I pulled it back, ready to thrust it in."

Sam waited, holding his breath.

"But then, I heard you. I heard you laughing in the parlour. And I thought of you stepping in to tell me goodnight but seeing the blood and the hilt coming from my chest instead. So I put down the sword and walked away as though it had not happened."

Now it was Sam's turn to struggle against the sobs gathered in his chest as his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. As Frodo looked at him, seeing what he had done to his dearest friend, he felt sick. Where was his heart? How could he say that?

"Oh, Sam..."

But Sam would not look his way. Frodo felt sick. How could he have done that? He saw his hand again still in his lap. How ugly he was.

"Why can't it all be beautiful?" He whispered.

Sam reached out. Closing his hand around Frodo's.

"It is."

"No, Sam... not for me."

There was something different in his rich, flowing voice. Something hollow and cold hidden in the undertones.

"Mister Frodo... you should come home... please?

"No. I can't go back tonight... I need to stay here." His gaze wandered. Sam understood. The slightest rumor of a wind rustled the leaves and some racketing creak broke the silence beside them. Sam smiled. He stood slowly, keeping careful hold of Frodo's arms to bring him to stand as well.

"Sam?"

Sam led him gently. Helping his hands to find the fraying ropes. Frodo recognized the feel beneath his palm and gingerly sat, swaying the swing with his toes. He tentatively grinned up at his friend.

And suddenly he was flying. Sam's hands pressing into his back, strong arms propelling up until he felt as though he was brushing up against the sky soaring into the stars. He gasped in delight.

But then Sam was no longer behind him. He scuffed his feet along the damp ground to slow himself. He wobbled slightly rising to face Sam.

"S-sorry, sir." He was crying.

"Oh, Sam... no. I'm the only one who needs to be sorry." He curled his arms about Sam's back and pulled him close as Sam lost all grip of his emotion. "Maybe, Sam." Frodo eased him to the ground. "It is."


	5. Chapter 5

A/n: im sorry this took me a whole month to get this chapter posted online but please hear my out before you kill me: a few days into October i get myself into the middle of a rather bizarre and (i suppose) ridiculous incident and TOTALLY murder my shoulder so now my left arm and hand are pretty much useless as i seem to have no feeling in them... something to do with bones being out of place and messing up my nerves or something like that- my doctor doesn't explain things very well but let me tell you the x-rays look really, really... weird! THE POINT: i am typing with my right hand only and im not right handed so its taking me hours upon hours to type this out let alone try and use a pencil to make a rough copy!

Disclaimer: idonotownanthing(sob)

_If life's not beautiful without the pain then I don't ever want to see beauty again..._

_modest mouse- the view_

As morning crept, damp and chilled through the trees the bitterness of his lies still burrowed fiercely into his freezing heart. Even in the pristine brilliance of the untouched morning he silently tore at his soul. His life was naught but a series of denials and carefully secluded truths. And now... there was no more beauty to be found in the world into which he was so horribly entangled.

"_I can't tell him why..._"

Frodo's breath caught in his chest as he glanced down softly at the sleeping hobbit curled tightly by his side. He wouldn't have been looking at him now... he wouldn't be thinking now... he wouldn't even have had the air in his lungs to choke upon.

"_I don't even know how to tell myself."_

He tilted his head to rest back against the coarse bark of the aged tree he had slept against. Closing his eyes he drew a deep, steady breath, resisting its release until he could feel the blood pounding in his veins.

Once he might have held in wonder the fresh sunlight dancing through the young spring leaves to illuminate his visibly peaceful face, how it neglected to reveal the turmoil within. But he no longer knew how. That had been lost to him so many moments ago. Dull and faded was his soul.

"_Why..._"

He forced his the corners of his eyes tighter still so that not even the faded rusty hue of the light he couldn't see broke through.

"_...must this go on..._"

Pressed close against him, Sam shifted in his uneasy rest, returning from what Frodo could only hope had been some kindly dream. A small calloused hand sought and clasped his thin wrist, enclosing it entirely, as the young hobbit's wide dark eyes fluttered open.

"Mister Frodo," He murmured sleepily.

"Sam," Frodo's voice fairly dripped with heartache. The fingers about his wrist gently slipped into his hand. "Shall we go back now?"

They walked in silence but not the easy quiet they so often shared- when no words were needed. It lay heavily between them: a stone wall muffling all comfort that might have passed between them. Frodo seemed to drift ahead with his long gliding steps lost to some distant dream as Sam slowly followed, head hung, his feet falling heavy on the road muddied by dew. He had willed himself to cease listening to his weary mind racing with the steady hum of questions which would not be answered.

"_Why?_"

It kept breaking through.

"_Why, oh why, oh why..._"

He gritted his teeth.

"_How could he, how could he..._"

Sam hardly noticed that he was finally back inside Bag End until the wide, round door shut behind him with a faint _click_.

"_No_."

Sam felt Frodo standing soundlessly behind him as an arm slung itself gently over his shoulder in poorly attempted condolence. Sam tensed, looking reluctantly up into the brilliance of the stormy-day eyes drilling through his own.

"Sam, is there something you need to say?"

"No." He echoed aloud.

"You've been quiet lately." Sam fidgeted, lowering his gaze. There was too much pity in his master's stare.

"I always am, sir."

Frodo sighed in defeat. "Sam..." His shoulders sagged. "I hate to ask this of you but... Sam, I need you to go into my room and..." He lost the words he had strung together in his head. "...tidy it up a bit." He finished lamely but Sam's heart cried out in bitter understanding.

"Aye, sir."

He didn't know what he expected as he prepared to enter the deserted room, trepidation consuming his being. Stepping in he was greeted by a shock of cold wet air.

"_The window... he opened the window to feel the air..._"

He hastened across the room to shut the thick, iron framed panes of glass.

"_... to feel the air... one last time..."_

Sam fastened the latch. The loose sheets of paper that had been haphazardly stacked on desk he now was leaning over were strewn about the room. But as he leaned to gather them his hand closed on something else entirely. As his fingers closed about the cold wood he knew that he had just discovered what he had hoped to avoid entirely.

"_He held it to his chest... almost the same place as... as that scar... but he didn't mean to miss... he wouldn' have..."_

He held Sting before his stricken face. The brilliant sword that he had once held in such awe was now no more than a menacing blade. He fought aside a fresh wave of tears. His glare refocused to what sat behind the sinister curve of piercing metal.

_"I wrote you a letter, because that's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?"_ Frodo's voice rang frozen and hollow in his memory.

"No..." Sam couldn't hear himself whisper. This made it real. He had spent the last dreadful hours convincing himself numbly that it couldn't have been true- waiting to wake up from what he so solemnly wished was a terrible dream.

Sting clattered to the floor, much as it must have the night before.

_"After I finished, I folded the letter. It's sitting on my pillow, next to..."_

There it was. Poised and waiting for he the reader.

Sam stumbled blindly to kneel beside the bed, plucking the flawlessly creased parchment from the feather pillow, nearly tearing the note as his madly trembling hands struggle to unfold it.

"_My Dear Sam,"_

Unwanted teardrops fell from Sam's eyes as his limbs turned to heavy unfeeling stone.

_" I'm so sorry that I must bid my final farewell in such an awful_

_manner as this but I have never been good at saying goodbye._

_I am afraid, Sam, that I have run out of time._

_My dearest friend- you saved my life so many times, but_

_there is no rescue for my soul. Do not blame yourself for there_

_is no one in all of Middle Earth could have done half as well_

_as you. It is my own fault that I must do this now, take away_

_my own life. I do not expect you to understand this now or ever_

_but hear me now. There are some wounds that run too deep to_

_ever heal. Life is so a wound to me but do not allow this to be such_

_a wound to you. Do not let my passing be another burden for_

_you to bear. You are meant to live. Live the life that I could not_

_keep._

_Forgive me someday, Sam- but never forget what we have done._

_Forgetting will only make it hurt._

_Take my love and remember always that I give it to you._

_Until again we meet. "_

The last thing that Sam would have known to expect was the fury burning in his throat. He couldn't even find the means to think- for his gentle nature to find some acceptable reason for his master's woes to be so much greater that the rest of Middle Earth's. He only felt the pain of the anger flying like fire through his veins.

What hadn't they all suffered?

"How could you?" He cried as he leapt to his feet. "HOW COULD YOU!" He tore to the entry hall but Frodo was no longer there.

"_The parlor."_

He dashed to the second door on the left and flung it open, not noticing the handle slamming into the wall leaving a deep dent.

Frodo jumped as he drew back the heavy curtain and whirled to face the doorway.

"HOW...COULD...YOU?"

There stood Sam furiously swiping a tear from his eye- face flushed and contorted into some expression Frodo could never imagine the quiet, steady hobbit could possess.

"What makes y' think... that you... can just..."

"Sam... oh Sam... I... I am so...so sorry...I didn't think-"

"MAYBE YOU SHOULD 'AVE!" Sam shouted. "What if _I _just decided that just 'cause life wasn't one great holiday that I should jus' finish it 'cause all that was still beautiful jus' wasn't worth the hurt!"

"Sam... please... listen to me... just allow me to explain."

"I DON' WANT ANOTHER EXPLANATION!"

"Please-"

"I jus' want the truth!"

Frodo collapsed on the sofa.

"I can't give-"

"What makes you think you hurt so much more than any the rest of us? What makes you so special?"

The retort stung Frodo as if he'd been slapped.

"What about Mister Merry or Mister Pippin? Don' you know what they went through... for _you_?" Sam waved his hands frantically in the air about his head. "Jus' for YOU! And what about Boromir- he DIED trying to save the rest, Mister Gandalf too- trying to save YOU! Don' you think it has to hurt remembering what it's like to die. Who were you goin' to save when you..." His breath came in unsteady gasps but Frodo could only look on in shock. "...wh-when you were goin' to... to... Why were YOU goin' to die? 'Cause you jus' didn't want to try and make it alright again?" A new flame was kindled in Sam's passionate tirade. "WHEN DID YOU EVER TRY TO MAKE IT BETTER? When didn't you jus' sit around an' wait for it to go away? WHY COULDN'T YOU TRY!"

"Sam you don't understand-" Frodo made a desperate attempt to silence the enraged hobbit.

"What don' I understand?"

Now Frodo'd had quite enough. He jumped to his feet. Drawing himself to his full height he nearly seemed to tower over Sam. "Sam, you don't _know_ what IT did to me! You didn't have to carry-"

"BUT I CARRIED YOU!"

Frodo was rendered utterly speechless.

"Have you forgotten?" Sam stared up, sorrowful eyes reddened and hopeless.

"Oh... oh, Sam." Frodo reached out to lightly grasp the young hobbit's arm.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Frodo startled, backing away. "I-I think I'd l-like t-to go h-home now, sir."

"SAM, WAIT!" Sam turned back from the doorway. "I-I...please..."

"Is th-that all you have t-to say sir?"

Frodo gave him no reply.

"I'll just g-get my things." Sam's muffled footsteps began to fade as Frodo sank to the floor- burying his face in his hands- and wept.

"But what about you?" He choked.

The soft patter of Hobbit-feet halted.

"Sam?" Sam's shadow fell over his crumpled form. "Don't you ever..." Frodo's fragile voice faltered. "Don't you ever just want it to..."

He heard Sam take a slow, trembling breath.

"I don' let myself remember anymore, sir."

"_How can you just forget it_?" Frodo cried. "Things _changed_ Sam... the Shire's changed... we... _changed_... out there. You can't make it go back. We will _never _be the same- no matter how hard you try. Sam you'll just get hurt-"

"Funny _you_ should say that." The blunt unfeeling in his young friend's voice stilled Frodo's speech. "I can't do this Mister Frodo. My heart jus' can't take it no more."

"Sam, I'm sorry!"

"It's too late for that, sir."

"Sam!"

"I'm sorry too, sir... but I jus' can't..." His voice wavered. "Goodbye..."

"Sam... I mean it now... I do... I'm sorry..." Frodo sobbed. But Sam was no longer there.

TBC

Sorry this chapter wasn't so great- next one will be better!


	6. Chapter 6

A/n: First of all- I'm sorry this took so long again. I was lacking inspiration. For some reason I found it now- 2:00AM, morning after Thanksgiving, everyone is STILL AWAKE I'm about to be driven mad by relatives who have flown in from random parts of the world and insist on pinching my cheeks, my shoulder now hurts like hell (which the doctors say means its getting better but why should getting better hurt so darned much!), I mauled my "good" hand, and my best friend- for a reason i currently can't explain but im sure its a good one- wont talk to me but he insists he isn't mad at me but i guess i really do deserve for him to be mad at me, and now im just rambling and I AM MISERABLE!

Sorry:(

Also- i heard reader responses are no longer allowed so i will no longer be writing them unless i find out otherwise

Disclaimer: don't own lotr! blah!

Though it was his own home, the face of Frodo Baggins was not one that Rosie Cotton would have expected to greet her from behind the round, green door as it slowly creaked open on that frozen March morning. But then again, the face of Frodo Baggins did not seem to be quite itself.

"Frodo!" She gasped. "Is something the matter- you look as though you seen a ghost." _Or else become one_. She shuddered. The skin that had always been so delicately fair now attained a sickly grey pallor, his glowing oceanic eyes swollen and overbright.

"He's gone, Rosie." Even his voice resonated a bitter emptiness. Pity darted as a fleeting shadow across the Hobbit-lass' worried face before it was masked by faint confusion.

"But he's alright? You're-"

"I don't know. He's gone home." His voice faded to a near- silent breath.

"And this isn't Sam's home?" A gentle smile graced her lips. "You know Frodo- he's not the only one who cares." A cautious gleam of thanks lit the older Hobbits eyes but quickly fled. "It isn't like Sam to leave you alone for even a moment." The solemn stare drifted away. "Frodo."

"We had... a... a disagreement." Rosie's kindly gaze turned stern.

"Frodo... I can't believe a silly disagreement, as you say, would make him go."

"I assure you lass, it's nothing more than the simple fact that he fails see eye to eye with myself."

"_Oh, Frodo- even if you and him didn't see eye to eye he would make it seem you did. And when did you start blaming' Sam for _anything_?"_ She chided soundlessly. "Very well then, Master Baggins." She forced a grin. "I shall see you on a later day."

"Ah, Miss Cotton! My heart grows ever so cold when we must be parted." Frodo laughed. For a moment, Rosie was unsure of what to say. This court jester had but a moment ago been but the icy shell of a Hobbit.

"Don't let Sam hear you sayin' that!" But at the sound of his young friend's name Frodo's laughter ceased and breath-stealing sorrow settled upon the gentle-Hobbit's fragile soul.

"Good day, Rose." The door abruptly shut in the startled lass' face.

Frodo felt lost. So dreadfully bitter and alone- standing, staring at the door he had closed with tempered force.

_Don't be an ass, Frodo Baggins._ A voice scolded within his head._ There's no loss to fret over. She doesn't really care. She only pretends because she thinks Sam cares... poor dear. But then we've all been deceived, haven't we..._

His eyes stung.

_I thought I could trust him..._

Sam must hate him now.

_But he left me here..._

After all that had been said.

_...alone._

After what he had done.

_I've failed again..._

Tried to do.

_I need him..._ He wept guilt ridden in his heart.

He couldn't even manage to...

_But he doesn't need me..._

...finish it.

_I couldn't even manage to..._

He willed the world to disappear.

_I stayed for Sam. I lived so he wouldn't hurt... but now I'm hurt even more deeply... and he thinks me a conceited fool... and doesn't care._

But it wouldn't obey.

_I don't want to need..._

He just...

_I don't want to hurt..._

...wanted...

_I don't want to cause hurt..._

...it to...

_I don't want to **be**..._

...end.

_I want to end..._

"Sam!" Rose beat the faded yellow door of Number Three, Bagshot Row until she feared it would splinter and crack beneath her fist. "Samwise Gamgee I _know_ you're here!" There was still no answer. _Has the Gaffer gone deaf at last or is Sam the only one at home?_ "SAM! Open the door THIS INSTANT!" She barely halted the course of her pounding hand as the door opened a sliver. "Sam...?"

"Yes..." Sam's voice met her ears- a hoarse whisper.

"May I come in a moment?"

"I..." He croaked as she pushed past- assuming his reply. "I'll make some tea, if you'd like." He muttered heartlessly. _You too? Oh Sam..._ She frowned as his reddened eyes met her steady gaze.

"Sam- do you use tea to get away from every question you don't want to answer?"

"Suppose so- least that's what Mister... Mister Frodo's always said...him having so many questions and all."

"Has he been asking too many questions, Sam?"

"I'll be in the kitchen." Sam ducked away, his raised, nervous voice slipping an octave.

_What's happened to them?_ Rosie pondered. _I've never seen Sam this way_. And she never wanted to. "I'll keep you company."

"Please, sit down... wherever there's room." Sam gestured to the rectangular table whose chairs had been lost to clutter at the center of the small space. Rosie accepted his offer.

"Sam- Frodo said you'd had a... disagreement and exchanged some words." She made the first tentative attempt to coax from Sam the information she knew Frodo would not have been willing to part with.

"You spoke with Mister Frodo?" Sam's trembling hands set the battered copper kettle on the equally bruised stove as the young Hobbit paled at the sound of his masters name.

_They can hardly hear each others names without seeming ill._

"Yes- I just came from Bag-End."

"You talked to him."

"Yes." Rosie frowned. "Sam... you forgot to put water in the kettle."

"Oh!" Sam swiped the kettle from the stove but couldn't control his hand. It clattered to the ground. "S-sorry, Miss Rosie." He stammered.

"But you've done nothing wron-"

"Is he... i-is he... a-alri-"

"No Sam. He's terrible. As bad as you, even."

"Oh..." Sam examined a new dent the kettle had acquired. "What?"

"Please, just tell me what's wrong."

"Nuthin's wrong."

"Sam..." She paused- restraining her frustration. "I can't help if I don't know."

"I... don't...need...help. Beggin' your pardon miss! But I don-"

"Frodo does." She murmured.

"He's made it clear to me that it's no use. He's too good for help." Sam spat.

"So something is the matter, though." She proclaimed in triumph. "Don't you even _try_ to deny it Samwise Gamgee... Sam... what is that?" The other's hand had just removed from it's owners pocket what appeared to be a nearly destroyed sheaf of parchment folded into a tiny, precise square.

All rationale fled Frodo's frenzied mind. _I can't put up with this... I WON'T put up with this... to hell with Sam- I don't CARE. I CAN'T care... I WON'T_!

"I'M DONE!" He screamed to the deserted halls of the smial. "I CAN'T DO THIS, I CAN'T _LIVE_ WITH THIS!" He stumbled from the entry-way. "ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?" He shouted to his accusing phantoms. "WILL YOU LEAVE ME ALONE NOW?" Back to his room. "CAN YOUREMEMBER _NOW_ SAM? IS _THIS_ WHAT IT TAKES? CAN I STOP RUINING YOUR LIFE NOW?" He choked and swiped in furious disgust at a framed sketch on his dresser and sent it flying. "DAMN THE AIR! I DON'T NEED IT!" The glass shattered as it struck the ground but he paid it no mind. "Where's Sting?" His hands sought frantically about the cold wooden floorboards. "For Eru's sake! WHERE'S THE DAMNED SWORD?" It played out- a tantalizing vision in his mind's eye. He would find it... and end it. Sam would find him but Frodo didn't care... he wanted him to hurt. He wanted to burden him with agony... to make him spend every moment riddled with guilt fit to make him ill. He grasped a handful of splintered glass in his fist, clenching it until he felt the shards bite his palm. Frodo gritted his teeth in a horrified grimace as the blood slid sickeningly between his remaining fingers and the world swam before his eyes.

"Sam?" Sam crumpled the paper yet again and again. Smoothing it carefully only to repeat his thoughtless process.

"What's this?" He breathed. He wrinkled the folded paper with a vengeance as if it were some detestable foe.

"Yes... that." Slowly, reluctantly, Sam loosened his grip- dropping his questionable enemy by Rosie's arm and slowly she flattened it, carefully undoing it's flawless creases. It was a letter. _Is this what's gotten between them? A letter!_

"Just read it, please..." Sam's voice cracked. He sounded so like a child again- helpless, alone, scared- that an unwanted fear crept into Rosie's heart.

As the young Hobbit- lass turned her attention to the accused note, Rosie became immediately grateful she was one of the few folk of her standing that had been encouraged to learn as a child- for had she not known how to read, she would have needed Sam to do so for her. And should Sam have read it again... he would have broken.

She didn't know how to believe it. She didn't think she could. Frodo- the kind, wild eyed Master of Bag-End she had known as long as her memory allowed- had... written _this_.

"Sam... does he mean to..."

"He tried."

"But I just saw him-"

"H-he couldn't." Sam wavered.

"When?"

"L-l-last n-night." The Hobbit's face was sickly white.

"Oh... oh Sam!" Rosie was at a loss. "Here," She stood, gently grasping his arm as he swayed. "Careful, now. You need to lie down."

"No... no I don't." He sat heavily in another vacant chair.

"You do. Sam you're just hurting yourself."

"I just f-found it... not even three hours past. I-I got mad... I yelled... I don' know what all I said... I don' want t-to... but..."

"Sam-" Rosie said sternly. "You need to go back- now."

"But... but... he'll think-"

"Yes, but if you don't go he'll do something foolish- you know him- you know he will! Don't you lose him now Sam... not now." Sam winced as Rosie's words stirred a memory cast aside.

"Don' lose him..." Sam nodded rigidly. "I don' mean to... I don' mean to..."

Frodo watched- mesmerized- as thick crimson droplets struck the floor. He could feel splintered glass buried deep in his flesh but didn't dare unclench his hands.

_Oh no..._

It dawned slowly upon him, what he had again attempted.

_Oh Sam..._

But this time he would have succeeded- but for what? He curled his shaken body tightly about the injured hands, recollecting his disgusting motive.

_All I wanted was to hurt you... I could never want to hurt _you_-this isn't _your_ fault... It's me. You were right. And I'm sorry... I am... I am._

Sudden weariness overtook him as the whole of his actions settled heavy on his heart.

_But I can't help that it hurts- I just wanted it to go away and I didn't know how. I don't know how to try... but I will._

His throat stung, threatened with prickling sobs.

_But I can't do it alone... I don't know how to save myself._

He shut his tired eyes.

_Sam... come back..._

"Sam- it isn't locked is it?" Having refuse to knock, Sam's hand had hovered over the brass knob in the center of the green door far too long.

"I..." He grasped the knob and twisted. It didn't turn. "Yes." He said hoarsely, turning away with the full intention of walking straight back down to Bagshot Row.

"You have a key, remember." Rosie frowned in concern.

"I do." He produced from his pocket a small silver key. Rose promptly took it from him so that they might actually hope to get inside.

Frodo heard their voices. He felt their footsteps echoing through the floor. But he couldn't move- frozen stiff.

_Sam?_

He wanted to cry out. He needed to be found.

"Do you want me to wait here?" Rosie's hand gently brushed Sam's arm. He nodded. "Alright."

Sam felt his heart quicken its pace. He didn't want to be here. He couldn't face him- didn't know what he planned to do.

He knew where to find him.

_I can't go in there_.

But he had already opened the door.

_Sam... Is that you? Please..._

All Sam's eyes could find was the blood, streaming from an unseen source.

_His wrists... no... he's done it..._

A wave of nausea finally overpowered him. He couldn't see Frodo's eyes open in relief to greet he as he fainted dead away.

TBC...

THIS CHAPTER


	7. Chapter 7

WARNING: THIS IS NOT A NEW CHAPTER! Sorry!

I wasn't sure if I should continue this story or not but I have gotten many reviews and emails asking me to do so and I guess I just couldn't say no!

I will be updating this story with new chapters by the end of this week, HOWEVER, if you really want this story to keep going I will really need some help. I've kind of hit a dead end as far as plot lines go. I know where I want this to end but I have no idea how to get there. PLEASE (I'm begging here ) submit ANY suggestions or ideas ASAP (no matter ho absurd you think they are) and I'll try and work them in. I mean it!

Thank you!

(And yes, I have a very, very good excuse for taking so long to getting back to writing. If you want it just ask and I'll probably post it in my bio!)


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